


that's the way it has to be

by newsbians



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Canon, beth and benny are in love, beth is kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbians/pseuds/newsbians
Summary: Beth Harmon is different now, and Benny Watts hasn't changed a bit.
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Comments: 43
Kudos: 574





	1. she's so full of longing

She was different. 

The reasons why were obvious; It was in the way her pilot tipped his hat when she passed by the cockpit, the crystalline glass of champagne she had the good sense of turn down, even in the quick glances the cab driver kept sparing in his rear-view mirror. They were in  _ Beth Harmon’s _ presence, the American who took down those damn Commies, a World Grandmaster of chess, former orphan and current superstar.  _ Well, I will always be an orphan, _ she supposed.  _ Twice over.  _

She tipped the cabbie with a careful smile and a five dollar bill, trying not to laugh when his eyes went as round as fifty cent pieces. Her recent fall into luxurious wealth could certainly afford to generously tip any cab driver in the country.  _ Twenty five thousand dollars. _ It was enough to make her eyes water. 

(She cried in the bathroom on the plane, but it wasn’t about the money. It was never about the money.) 

The house felt the same, to her relief. The metal doorknob with a dent on the underside. Heavy curtains in the living room windows. Painted a pale green she’s never been able to define. Beth might have come back a champion, but it was the same house that held her when she was a washed-up drunk. 

_ Not washed-up _ , Jolene had cheered in her ear over the phone.  _ You still got it, cracker! _

Her bags hadn’t touched the wooden slat floor before the telephone began its shrill scream.  _ I’m on the cover of every magazine in America and someone is still going to try and sell me amphetamines, _ Beth groused. “Yes?” 

“You win one chess match and you forget all your manners, Harmon.” He  _ tsked _ , the sound of teeth and tongue close in her ear. 

Beth’s brows unknitted themselves. “ _ Benny _ ,” her voice loosened. “You haven’t called.” 

“Wrong,” he interrupted. “I’ve been calling every hour, on the hour today. You weren’t home to pick up.” 

She shrugged off her coat and swiped at the thin bead of sweat building at her collar.  _ How was it so cold in Moscow and boiling in Kentucky? _ “I was on a  _ plane _ ,” she stressed. “Coming home from Russia- I don’t know if you heard, it was quite the big deal.” 

Beth could hear Benny nodding over the phone. “ _ The Lexington Times  _ covered the whole damn thing. They even wrote your play down- got your winning move wrong, though. You didn’t get him queen to bishop five.” 

“No, I didn’t,” She grumbled. That was irritating. 

A distant honk echoed from outside his apartment- if you could even call it that, more like a hollow square of concrete packed with mismatched chess pieces- and he chuckled. “What are you gonna do now, Beth?” 

His words hit her square in the chest, one by one, their weight slowly beginning to suffocate. For so long, there was no  _ next _ . There was Russia, there was booze, there were more prescriptions of Xanzolam, but there wasn’t a future beyond Moscow. For periods of time, she let herself imagine a  _ something _ with the people that waltzed into her life- Jolene’s combat boots standing on her doormat. The flash of Townes’ camera bulb. The gentle melody of Mother’s piano. 

(They left, though. The people always left.) 

(Even Benny.) 

“Buy a  _ Chess Review. _ ” Beth avoided the question. “I heard I’m on the cover.” 

Magazine pages fluttered, presumably under his fingers. “You are. They paid Townes a mint for that photo of you getting into the car, and he paid three months of my rent.” 

Beth stretched the cord of her telephone until it was taut, reaching for the scrap of paper she had in her bag.  _ Pay T back- however much he wants. _ “That was generous. Does he like your hair too?” She hesitated after making the familiar joke. He had called only once since demanding she never reach out to him again- were they back to old rhythms? Or was she twisting to her own beat? 

He laughed before she could think too hard about it, thank God. “I’m pretty sure he just wanted me off his back. Harry and I couldn’t stop asking match questions.” 

Beth brightened once again at the mention of her friend. “Put Harry on, I’ve got some questions about my Sicilian defense-” 

“Harry left a day and a half ago.” Benny stops her short. “He said he was missing too many shifts at the market. Did you know the guy  _ bags groceries? _ He beat me once, couple years back, and now he works in the produce department.” 

“Assistant manager,” Beth corrected. It was all she could do to defend Harry, she didn’t quite understand his speech about falling out of love with chess, but she could respect it. Beth Harmon could do a lot more these days. “I’ll drop by, then. To ask my questions.” 

Benny  _ tsked _ again. “Ask me. I’m your best teacher.” 

“Don’t push it,” Beth warned as thoughts of Mr. Shaibel danced around her head. “Harry’s read all the books, you just wrote one. He’s better at theory.” 

His silence was pleasantly warm. It was the feigned air of being injured to get her to crack and apologize through laughter, not the stale space that lived between them for so long. It felt  _ new _ . 

“Wipe your tears, Benny. He is, and it’s a fact you’ll live with.” 

“I’m rolling my eyes. You can’t see, but I’m rolling my eyes.” 

“Well-” She stopped herself short. 

( _ Well, I wish I could _ .) 

“Well?” He questioned impatiently. 

“Well. That’s all.” She finalized. 

“Well, what’s after your magazine purchase, Beth? Don’t bullshit, answer me.” 

And there he was, Benny Watts, the American champion at a game of wits and gall, the player who famously looked his opponent in the eyes when he took their king, the man who wore a knife around his belt for protection he didn’t need. “Jesus,” Beth weakly shot back. 

There was a smack of the magazine hitting a side table. “You’re going to play him again, and one day he won’t be so nice. You’ll play the South Africans, and the Australians, and everyone else because  _ you’re the best we’ve got _ , and none of that will happen if you take one more drink.” 

Beth numbly pictured the bottle of whiskey she had left half-drunk inside her makeshift booze cart. He was right. 

(Benny  _ fucking _ Watts. He was always right.) 

“Ask Jolene to move in with me,” she admitted. “She won’t, but I’m going to ask. She was the best at keeping me sober since you, and I owe her a lot more than the money it took to fly me out there.” 

“Now there’s a plan,” Benny said. His voice was clouded with-  _ Hmm _ . Beth couldn’t quite place her finger on it. “Listen, I’ve got to go. G’bye.” 

“Benny, I-” He was already gone. 

( _ Benny _ ,  _ I miss you too. _ ) 

&&&

She had left a bunch of bananas sitting on the counter, and they went brown and mushy. Beth flipped through the pages of Baking For Newly-Wed Housewives (one of Mother’s copies) while entertaining the idea of banana bread. Never once had she tried baking, but she was different, and something had to change. Sober hobbies were good hobbies. Good hobbies were ones that didn’t include the four bottles of wine Beth had just dumped in the grassy backyard. 

_ I don’t have eggs, but if I stop by the market, I can see Harry.  _

_ Yes, I think I need eggs.  _

Half a sock was on when a knock at the door stopped her.  _ If it’s Jolene, I can get this whole business out of the way and Benny can stop asking me all the hard questions. _ She hoped it was Jolene. 

It was decidedly not Jolene. 

“Ask me to move in with you,” he said. “I’m the best at keeping you sober.” 

(People always left, but they weren’t in the habit of coming back.) 

(Until Benny.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is me letting the world know that my 11 yr old crush on TBS has returned with a VENGEANCE  
> also i'm in love anya taylor joy. like in Real love anya taylor joy if ur reading this dm me  
> anywho leave a comment and i'm win a chess match in russia for you also follow me on tumblr @/lauriemarch


	2. she's so full of belonging (and so full of love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny Watts and Beth Harmon are still US Open Co-Champions.

She didn’t dart about her kitchen like Mother did, because Beth Harmon was not her mother and Benny Watts was not someone you  _ dart _ for. In fact, she didn’t even want to pour him the damned cup of coffee- he was too busy staring out her backyard window at the mess of glass and wine corks. Benny was completely turned around, yet she could feel the judgement radiating off of him in horrible, terrible waves. 

“They’re not-” she began. 

“I know,” he finished. “You smell… well. Not like that.” Benny nodded at the emptied bottles of booze slowly draining out on her small patch of grass. He turned to face her, leaning against the doorframe, and Beth Harmon was suddenly going to cry. 

(But she couldn’t, and she can’t, and she won’t.) 

He grabbed for the ceramic pot under her arm and poured himself the cup of coffee, either not noticing Beth’s blank stare to stave off her tears or being too kind to point it out- but it wasn’t kindness, Beth knew. Benny Watts was not kind, or gentle, he was a tidal wave. She was the shore, firm and never-ending, and he was the reckless spill of a man. “Cream?” He interrupted her thoughts. She could answer with nothing more than a noncommittal hand gesture towards the fridge. 

Benny came up from her refrigerator with a frown and took a swig of his still-black coffee. “You’ve got an-” He ducked down to check once more, “expired jar of olives and one apple that I’m sure should be thrown out.” 

That started her out of the foggy trance. “Sorry, I was just on a plane for twenty eight hours. In between that and becoming the International Grandmaster, there was really no time to stop by Sam’s Groceries.” Benny rolled his eyes below the rim of his mug. 

“I’ll tell people that we were US Co-Champions until the day I die. That I almost had you with my  _ rook _ and I used to obliterate you at speed games.” Benny pondered for a moment, hand suddenly fiddling with the knife on his belt. “No, that I  _ taught _ you speed games.” 

“We still are,” Beth noted. “There’s always next year.” 

Benny shook his head, and the patronizing motion crawled directly under Beth’s skin. “There’s no next year. You’re the best in the whole fucking game and people are going to crawl from every corner of the Earth just to play you.  _ Masters _ are gluing down the pieces of your game with Borgov as we speak, just so they never forget what happened. Little Russian boys,” Benny wiggled his fingers around in a pathetic sort of way that made Beth want to laugh, “will draw Beth Harmon in hearts in their notebooks. The most I’ll ever have from you is Co-Champion, and I’ll have it etched on my grave, goddamnit.” 

Silence bit through his speech as Benny stopped himself short, and Beth wrapped her arms around herself.

(Benny  _ fucking _ Watts.) 

Benny was the most confusing person she had ever met. People, although unpredictable, made sense in her life: Mother had been her King’s Bishop, her favorite piece to fall back on when the pieces were tied, Townes, a Rook, there when she needed it but silent otherwise, Mr. Shaibel was the Queen’s Pawn, her first move in a game of Sicilian Defense, and Jolene was her knight, unexpected, witty, and powerful. Benny Watts was different- Benny Watts was on the other side of the board. 

He wouldn’t meet her gaze, and for the first time in her life, Beth had the upper hand against him. She didn’t know how to be gentle either. If Benny was a tidal wave, maybe Beth was a tsunami. Or perhaps she was a real, human girl, and no metaphor would ever make as much sense as Benny Watts did. 

“You’ve got me,” her voice was a hair’s breadth above a whisper. “You’ve had me.” 

Kissing Benny was unlike any man before, because it was familiar. For the first time, there was a  _ before, _ and she was sure there would be an  _ after. _ His mouth against hers felt more like coming home than any dented door knob or fading paint could. Beth slid a hand (a hand always so empty, so cold) under the idiotic leather coat he always insisted upon wearing and he cupped her neck- and Benny Watts was gentle. 

She was biting back a smile when he pulled away to look at her. “Four months,” Benny said, a grin betraying itself on his own face. “I’ve waited four months for that, and I think I would have died if it took any longer.” 

“You should have come with me to Russia,” Beth looked away for a moment, caught between the past and a kiss. 

“I should have,” Benny nodded. “But you wouldn’t have won that way. You wouldn’t be Beth Harmon, international genius, if I had flown you out.” 

( _ I wouldn’t be Beth Harmon without you, _ she wanted to protest. It wasn’t true, though, and they both knew it. There had been a Beth Harmon long before there was a Benny Watts.) 

Beth pondered for a moment. “I’d be a lot of things,” she admitted. She was important beyond her freshly minted title- she was a female chess player, she had once been in  _ Life _ magazine, and the National Chess Association had written her as ‘nothing short of a chessmen miracle.’ “But I wouldn’t have won Borgov’s game.” 

Before Benny could respond, Beth darted out into the hallway and up the stairs. She was in her childhood bedroom and the trophies winked at her in the dusk light pouring through her windows. After scrounging through the desk drawers, Beth held up a beaten chessboard and the pieces rattled back with a cheerful clack. 

&&&

“Play me.” Beth said, after laying the board out. Benny good naturedly took the other side of the board, and she held up her fists with the weathered pawns inside. He chose black, and she kissed him.

“No time, no limits, just a classic game.” 

As her hand hovered over the board, Beth could have sworn that the sound of Townes’ bulb popped behind her. She  _ knew _ that Mother’s perfume had clung to the couch cushions, and the corner of one of Harry’s books peaked out underneath the coffee table. The corner of the couch where she had perched felt more like a flipped-over milk carton. 

Beth moved her pawn to queen’s four. 

(In a game of chess, she would like to have been a Bishop, or perhaps a Rook. She was probably a Queen, however. Powerful. Unpredictable. A sacrifice. But life wasn’t chess- and Beth Harmon was not a game piece. She was just a girl, sitting with a boy, and the sun would rise and set again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> benny is a secret romantic because I! Said! So!  
> thank you so so so so so much for all the wonderful feedback on my first chapter- i'm so indebted to y'all that i scrapped my itsy bitsy ending i had left and wrote a whole new one.   
> again, thank you thank you thank you. roses and carnations for everyone.   
> follow me on tumblr @/lauriemarch for more nonsense <3


End file.
